Wiggle Woes
by JealousOfTheMoon
Summary: Where can you find something so terrible that even a Marshwiggle wouldn't have thought to predict it? Watch as Puddleglum finds out the hard way. [Oneshot. Suggested JillEustace. Nothing inappropriate or dirty.]


_It was a dark and stormy night and JealousOfTheMoon was at a sleepover and feeling rather silly. Well, somebody happened to be on wwwdotthelionscalldotnet, and there are these 'Talk to A Narnian Character' things that are at their worst frustrating and at their best highly entertaining. There are four characters you can talk to – Aravis, Tumnus, Reepicheep, and Puddleglum, if memory serves me rightly – and somebody happened to get on Puddleglum's chatbox. If you ask the character a less predictable question, it will spit out one of a set of five or six random answers it has been set to respond to that kind of question. For instance, if you ask Aravis who King Lune is, she knows. If you ask her something like 'Who is your second cousin three times removed,' she may tell you to be less specific, but she may also give you one of five names of Narnian characters which are just tossed out at random in response to unfamiliar 'who' questions. After playing around with Puddleglum a bit, I have the system figured out pretty well, and you probably will too. _

_I figured there are enough stories out there where the characters find fanfiction websites, but why couldn't one try to hold a conversation with "himself"? _

_Er, this is a low-maintenance low-edit low-time-consuming story, so it's not my best. _

**Wiggle Woes**

_or _**How To Get a Padded Cell According to a Marshwiggle**

_or _**Puddleglum's Predicament**

**by JealousOfTheMoon**

"Bothersome day it'll be, no doubt," the oddly clad figure muttered. "It'll rain, or snow, or both like as not!" He eyed the machine on the desk before him balefully. "And this contraption—it'll break as soon as I touch it, or blow up and kill me, I'm sure."

In certain types of fanfiction, a character always finds a computer, magically makes his way onto and the rest goes downhill. He discovers uncanonical pairings, slash, Mary Sues, or other similarly trepidatifying evils. So it should be no wonder that Puddleglum somehow made it to a place where electricity and internet are functioning, managed to be sitting in front of a computer that was turned on, logged in, et cetera, and was now preparing to handle both mouse and keyboard as if he has done so all his life.

Don't ask how. This is fanfiction, duh!

Returning to the story, it will be no surprise to the reader to learn that the computer did not break once Puddleglum first gingerly placed hand to mouse. Of course he never noticed that his predictions had been wrong—he went straight to the next one.

_Hum…no doubt it'll break later, of course – a real explosion, with lots of smoke…toxic smoke, I shouldn't wonder…_

There was a window minimized on the task bar, and he moved the mouse to maximize it. He knew what to do; this is fanfiction!

**TALK TO PUDDLEGLUM** the screen read. There was a picture of some funny-faced creature who blinked monotonously, and a paragraph listing the year and location along with helpful hints on what to and what not to attempt to discuss with—

Wait.

Puddleglum?

That was supposed to be…himself!

But wasn't he sitting right here? At this machine which was about to combust at any given moment?

To Puddleglum, this was the last straw. _I'm not myself anymore…or I'm attempting to hold a conversation with myself…an imposter, maybe…someone out for deep secrets of the Narnian Realm…or blood, like as not…_

"A miserable falsehood!" he moaned aloud. "A trick—some spy or another. Ha! Probably a fabrication on the part of one of the Witch's kind."

But he decided that two could play the devious game, and so hesitantly he put fingers to keyboard and typed his first question. He was a touch-typer instantly, of course.

**WHO IS MOTHER?**

It answered promptly: **Queen Susan.**

Puddleglum was aghast, but at the same time filled with a horrified sort of curiosity, and again asked:

**WHO IS FATHER? **

And the screen replied: **Queen Lucy.**

"No doubt this is some sort of test—hoping that I shall correct them and give them the right answers—I'm holding a battle of wits with myself, which of course will only end in trouble…raving madness, I shouldn't wonder…" The fact that his ravings did not make much sense should be understandable and forgivable.

As he mumbled morbid predictions to himself he frowned, deciding to put another terrifically difficult question to himself.

**WHO IS GRANDPA?**

Puddleglum being Puddleglum did not expect this to stump the foul fiend who was speaking on his behalf, and his expectations were accurate.

**The High King.**

Surely there had been a mistake! (Puddleglum didn't think so.) '_I'll ask it another question…though it's probably already outwitted me and this will be feeding the fire…writing up my own death warrant, no doubt…' _

And so he typed: **WHO IS GRANDMA?**

Puddleglum shook his head as the other part of him on the other side of the computer answered with stunning speed:

**The High King.**

'_Surely not…surely not…not King Peter of the Golden Age?..._both_ grandparents?!'_ Puddleglum was appalled. Here he was, watching himself claim relation after relation to the Four Sovereigns of Narnia!

'_A prediction of my miserable future, no doubt—I always was bound to turn out a mutinous, treacherous wiggle. They'll probably have me beheaded for high treason, or locked up for insanity. I always knew it would end that way.'_ And he had.

But while our hero mutters despairing despondencies to himself, he also had a lot of courage working up inside him—a fierce determination—and he was not one to back down from what might be his last chance to rid himself of the guilt of treason…_'though like as not I'll be locked up for insanity instead.'_

So he pulled together his mind, gathering all his skill and wit for what would surely be the end of all this—if the other 'him' didn't pull a better one over himself, as he no doubt would.

**WHO GAVE ME MY HAT?**

The picture of himself (not a very good one) blinked at him twice, and then without any further hesitation spat out:

**King Edmund. **

"I knew it! I knew it!" He moaned, holding his head in his hands. "Trying to get me to say that it was my third cousin five times removed's cousin's sister's fiancé's brother in law! I knew it wouldn't stop here. I knew they'd try to tell me otherwise. Shouldn't wonder if all the Cair Paravel guard isn't here to seize me next moment—won't even have pity on an insane wiggle, they won't."

Just when he had decided that there was no hope for him, a dangerous, lunatic fiend, and that he would be banished from decent marshwiggle company and sent to be roasted at the Gentle Giants' table—when he had convinced himself to lose all hope (not that he had had much to begin with)—

He thought of IT.

The question to end all questions.

The question which has made all tried and true Narnia fanatics falter in their ways, and bicker amongst themselves until – in desperation – they simply pretend to ignore it and "agree to disagree."

The question which, barring an earthquake or power outage or stray lightning bolt, would surely stump this terrible figment of himself whom he was engaging in conversation.

And so, _almost_ optimistically, he typed:

**WHO IS JILL POLE'S TRUE LOVE? **

Now, he _expected_ the computer to say 'Scrubb' or 'Eustace'. He might have settled for 'Rilian' or even 'Edmund.'

But no.

Puddleglum-the-Imposter hemmed, hawed, sputtered, and blinked in a very hopeless fashion.

Then, when it had nearly conceded defeat, a gleam of deceitful malice sprang into his terribly rendered eyes, and it procured the answer:

**Mr. Beaver. **

Puddleglum choked. Even in his pessimistic predictions, he'd never thought…that is to say, he'd always known…but then again it must be…there was some rational…doom and destruction…perhaps it was because…

There was nothing else to do. There was nothing _to_ do! He got up and limped away, holding his head and moaning.

Lunacy and a padded cell were certainly in _his_ foreseeable future.

**Alternate Ending:**

Years later, after Father Time had blown his horn and the sun was gone, after they had completed the joyous journey to New Narnia and Aslan's Country, Jill and Eustace engaged in the joyous process of being reunited with an old friend.

"Puddleglum!" Jill threw her arms around him, while Eustace coughed and stood waiting to give a more masculine form of greeting.

Somehow their old friend didn't look quite as dismal as he always had, and though he began making gloomy predictions, there was an underlying note of hope beneath them all that they had never noticed 'till now. Then Eustace remembered the Underworld, and how when he and Jill had fallen under the Witch's enchantment, it was Puddleglum who stuck his hand in the fire, Puddleglum who reminded them of all that was hopeful, Puddleglum who had remembered Aslan and Aslan's country. And suddenly this side of Puddleglum wasn't so surprising after all.

But their joyful reunion was cut short when their golden-haired friend flung herself at Jill, squealing. "Oh, come Jill, you simply must meet the Beavers! I haven't seen them for ages!" –which, literally, was true.

Jill squealed. "Oh, yes, I've heard all about them!" Lucy beckoned to the brown, flat-tailed animal who stood to one side.

"Mrs. Beaver is off combin' 'er fur," the animal explained.

Puddleglum started, but remained calm otherwise. Eustace, noticing this, frowned.

"Mr. Beaver, this is Jill. Jill, Mr. Beaver." Lucy introduced somewhat grandly.

Jill smiled, bowed, then fairly gushed. "Mr. Beaver—a pleasure. I've heard all about you—all that you did for Scrubb's cousins—and I've wanted to meet you for ever so long."

Eustace had always wondered why Puddleglum, upon hearing those words, turned a deep and violent shade of green. Nor did he understand why his friend had swiftly put a hand over his eyes, muttering, 'So there's a _Mrs…_of course, the legendary Beavers…so it's worse than I thought…and bound to get worse all the while…'

Quickly he looked to his other friend—the girl—who was talking to Mr. Beaver and blushing rather prettily (a general statement, no particular feeling on his part, of course). Surely Puddleglum didn't think…! But that was outrageous…!

**A/N: **_Once upon a time in the future, in a galaxy far far away, HTKANMS will be updated and more Canon Keepers will be written. _


End file.
